Harbinger of Fools
by TerraChasma
Summary: Evan's spent the last six years running from the nightmares of his past, and now they've finally caught up with him. Running isn't always the answer. Sometimes, it's better to stand and fight. In the aftermath of a tragedy, a nightmare shows him everything he's come so close to losing and reminds him of the reasons why he fought.


**Harbinger of Fools**

* * *

**Chapter One: Fragments of Desperation**

* * *

_Love is the most important emotion in life. It is also the one that is wild, that can take us to heaven or hell. I'm not saying love always takes you to heaven. Your life can become a nightmare. But, that said, it is worth taking the risk. _

_-Paul Coelho_

* * *

In a sickening lurch of fear, Evan could have sworn he felt the coarse jaw of the Albertosaurus brush teasingly against the back of his head, the rough scales scraping his skull and leaving every hair standing on end. A rush of crazed adrenaline hit him side-on as his very life seemed to flash before his eyes, his feet moving faster of their own accord. There was no way he could stop or slow down, however fierce the burn in his chest became, for it wasn't just his own safety on the line here; Brooke's life and what remained of his sanity were both hanging in the balance.

One tiny gleam of salvation kept him going, a final shred of mercy to counterbalance his aching lungs. Somewhere out there, his wife was alive and peacefully oblivious to the ten tonnes of destiny streaking towards her like a freight train out of control. Choices meant nothing to him now; he would save her or die trying. His legs were poised on the brink of collapse, his body crying out for rest, but however much physical pain the universe threw at him, it would always be preferable to living in a half-life, condemned by the knowledge he'd failed her twice.

So he put his head down and carried on running in a mad, headlong sprint towards fate. From somewhere close behind him, two heartless black eyes bored through his skin, glinting with hunger and evil malevolence. The eyes of a killing machine with no capacity for emotion or love. Evan envied it that.

There was no fear. Even the Albertosaurus was no longer enough to frighten him. It was a monster, cold and detached from the real world, chasing down another meal amongst thousands of others. Pain had become no more than an irritation in the darkness of his heart. What did he have left to live for, after all?

So if death was preferable to life, why not just stop? It would be all too easy to give up and sacrifice himself to the razor-blade teeth, the dark caverns of the mouth reaching out to him. A few seconds of horror and then he would be free from the restrictions of humanity, free from instinct, pride and all the rest.

He was running for a reason. He was running to escape the volatile demons buried in his past, to escape them, erase them and then finally replace them. He was running to carve out his new life, in a world where anomalies never opened and people didn't die and paradoxes just...didn't exist anymore. Evan held the key to the past, to change and manipulate it to suit his own ends. He couldn't relinquish it yet. He couldn't stop when he'd come this far.

Poised to start an avalanche, this was where it all began, and this was where it was going to end.

"Hello? Who's there?"

A shadowy figure appeared in front of him, calling out with Evan's voice, staring wildly with Evan's eyes.

"My god..."

And then his world descended into madness.

Evan didn't stop, instead using his momentum to carry him around the corner as he reached out to grab his younger self's sweaty hand. The hand that was almost a perfect match to his, minus the scars and callouses that had accumulated over years of dinosaur-hunting. It was a strangely chilling thought.

They ran side by side in the silence, deeper into the bowels of what would soon become Cross Photonics. Neither said a word, but each recognised the danger behind them and knew that to falter, even for a second, would be suicide. Evan wasn't sure how much longer he could carry on for; his head was spinning and his legs were turning numb.

There. A small, inconspicuous door, standing innocently at the other end of the corridor. All at once, he knew what he had to do. His grip on the other Evan's hand tightened until his nails dug into the palm, pushing himself forwards with everything he had.

Moving swiftly, he deviated from his original course towards the door, hearing a grunt of surprise from the man next to him. His shoulder slammed against the wood, once, twice, forcing it open. He gritted his teeth against the pain of the impact as they half-ran, half-stumbled into a cramped corridor.

"No, don't stop! Not yet!" he felt his counterpart slowing down and tried to encourage him onwards, although the cold air sliced into his throat with every desperate gasp. The Albertosaurus growled, smashing its head against the wall in a frantic attempt to reach them. Already, small cracks were beginning to form in the plaster, a warning to get out before it was too late.

If he remembered correctly, just a little further and he would arrive at another door, almost identical to the first. In a few months time, when Evan transformed the building into Cross Photonics, it would be padlocked several times and fitted with an alarm, but here and now one rusty bolt was all that stood between him and safety.

The bolt was stiff, but after a bit of persuasion it gave easily enough. Breathless, they tumbled from the gloom and dust of the corridor into the harsh beams of sunlight. His younger self was the first on his feet, brushing dirt from his clothes with a wary glance at the open door behind them.

"What the _hell _just happened? Who a_re _you?"

"Where's Brooke?" Evan cut him off brusquely, folding his arms in a direct challenge.

"How do you know Brooke?" the other Evan's face twisted with suspicion, proverbial hackles raising in anger although there was a glint of intrigue in his eyes, an intrigue that was all too familiar.

"Where is she?"

Fury washed over him in a sweeping tide of red. It was a struggle to restrain himself, hold his arms by his sides rather the slapping the man, shouting at him for answers, but he managed it. Taking a deep breath, he tried for an apologetic smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. "Just tell me,"

"Outside, just around the front, but..." he trailed off, leaving a rather obvious gap for Evan to explain what the hell was going on, what he wanted with Brooke and why they had just been chased by something that was, for all intents and purposes, extinct.

Evan chose to ignore it, for now, anyway. "I will explain everything, I promise. Is she alright?"

"Why shouldn't she be?" his younger self frowned, unconsciously rubbing his thumb over the silver band adorning his ring finger.

A wedding ring, identical to the one sat on Evan's desk back home.

For a moment, the sight of that ring tempted him to ask if they could go and find her, so he could see for himself she was alive, but the few seconds of relief were soon tempered with trepidation. The last time he'd seen Brooke, it had been here, on this day, watching her disappear into the dinosaur's jaws. How could he follow this other Evan, go and find his wife again knowing what had happened the last time they'd been together? How could he possible explain his devastation at seeing her body torn apart, or describe the tattered remnants littering the ground amongst all the blood and gore? He'd been there at her funeral, grieved for her, cried for her.

How could he look at her now, knowing her would-be killer was hidden somewhere in the building behind him?

In a split-second, he made his decision.

"Look, I - I have to go, but could you do something for me? Tell Brooke...just tell her I love her, okay? Please,"

For the first time he looked directly at his counterpart, straight into the storm-flecked eyes that matched his own exactly, and perhaps the younger man saw something there, some raw note of lingering grief and despair, for his face softened and he nodded slowly.

"I can do that, but first I need to know what's going on,"

Evan thought for a moment, then smiled bitterly. "A tragedy happened today. That thing you saw back there, the Albertosaurus, it killed Brooke, and it nearly killed you, too. You spent the next few years grieving, distraught by the accident, and you tried to avenge yourself by dedicating your life to finding out the truth, so nobody else would have to suffer like you did. Sometimes it worked and you saved people. Other times, they died. Either way, life went on,"

"She died?"

"Torn to shreds," he confirmed it darkly, steeling himself to continue. "Only now, that never happened. You need to go now, get away from here and never come back. Promise me,"

"Are you...oh, this sounds crazy, I know, but are you from the future?"

"Promise me," Evan repeated, deliberately avoiding the question.

"I promise,"

"Before you go, you'll need this," reaching into his pocket, Evan pulled out a small, flat square of plastic, the first of Toby's prototypes, and handed it over with some reluctance, hoping the other man would have the intelligence to make the same breakthrough he had found all those years ago. Without the anomalies as a distraction, maybe he'd be able to fix what Evan had done wrong and take Cross Photonics to the new heights it deserved.

There was an awkward pause as his counterpart pocketed the detector. Evan sighed and wrung his hands together. "Six years,"

"Huh?" the other man looked up, startled.

"Six years from now. That's where I come from,"

"Oh,"

"I lived without her for six years. When the chance came along to put things right, I...I didn't have a choice. I couldn't live with _myself_, knowing that..."

"I understand,"

Evan knew, from the sincerity in his face and the heartbreak in his eyes, that he did.

"Oh," he called, just as his younger self turned away to leave. "If you ever think about starting up another company...good luck, and if you're stuck for names, well, Cross Photonics seems like a pretty safe bet to me,"

He winked, and laughter lit up the other man's face as he turned the anomaly detector over in his hands, examining it with a well-trained eye. "Goodbye, then, Evan Cross. I'll see you in six years, more or less,"

"Goodbye for now. I hope that...everything...goes alright from now on,"

"So do I, Evan. So do I,"

And then there was nothing left to say.

Despite everything, Evan found himself edging forwards as the younger man walked away, following in his counterpart's footsteps, knowing all he was going to do was break his own heart all over again. Somehow, he couldn't bring himself to care.

He peered around the corner, just enough to catch a glimpse of a denim skirt and brunette hair, and to hear a laugh like chiming bells.

She was safe.

"Hi, love. Ready to go?"

"If you're done then I am,"

"God, Brooke, I love you. Come on then,"

With a sad, secret smile Evan turned away, ready to re-enter the new life he'd created.

* * *

The anomaly site was quiet. Too quiet. He was alone, and it scared him. When he called out, the only reply he got was his own pitiful echo, creeping through the building like ghosts of the shadows. The ghosts of his past; the ghosts of the future.

He bit his lip and carried on walking.

Something out there had changed. He could feel the fabric of time twisting around him, adjusting itself to make up for what Evan had done. The world he stood in now wasn't the one he'd left behind when he stepped into the anomaly junction.

His hand flew to his pocket, fingers closed protectively around his cell phone. It felt cold and strange in his hand; it didn't belong here, in this new world, not anymore.

He scrolled through the numbers, searching for the one person he wanted to talk to more than anyone else in the world right now.

"Hi, Evan. Do you need something?" Ange's voice, so sweetly concerned, filled his ear, no trace of her old hostility. This was Ange before Colonel Hall's influence corrupted her, before the anomalies turned her life upside down. This was the Ange he had known once, long ago, back when they were 'The Dream Team' again and everything was pure and simple.

"Hey, Ange. No, I don't need anything. Are you alright?" he tried to sound nonchalant, ignoring the butterflies filling his stomach, although he wasn't entirely sure how successful he was.

If Ange was puzzled by his attitude, she didn't let it show, but there was a slight teasing suspicion in her voice as she replied briskly, "I'm fine, Evan. What's going on?"

"Nothing's going on! I just - look, how do you fancy takeout at my place tonight?" he improvised, the memories in his head clamouring to be heard. How many nights had they spent together in his office, bonding through their grief across plates of Chinese takeout? Nights that Ange would now have no memory of, nights that would never have needed to happen.

"Hey, that'd be great, thanks! Does Brooke know?"

He froze. "Brooke?"

"Brooke? As in, your wife? Honestly, I don't know what's up with you these days, Evan, you've got your head in the clouds half the time. Are you getting enough sleep?" she sounded genuinely concerned, and he forced himself to relax. He had been caught off guard; it seemed odd to hear her name spoken aloud so casually, after years of people walking on eggshells around him.

"No, I...you know what, it doesn't matter. I'll tell her later, but I can't see she'd have a problem with it," he hastily covered his tracks, and fortunately Ange seemed to accept the reply.

"Oh, she's with me at the moment, I can ask her. We're at the pub, thought we'd nip out and have some 'girl time' together. She just left to get drinks - no, wait, here she is. One sec," she raised her voice a little, speaking to someone on the other end of the line. "Hey, Brooke! Evan was wondering if you wanted to get takeout this evening, the three of us together. What do you think?"

There it was. The same voice he had heard on the other side of the anomaly, indistinct, six years older but still unmistakable.

"Hey, good idea, I haven't got any plans for tonight,"

His first conclusive proof that, despite everything, he had found her again, he had beaten the odds and brought his wife back from the dead. Forget about the past, the anomalies, everything else, _this _was his world now. This was where he was supposed to be.

Ange came back on the line, distracting him from his thoughts. "I guess that's sorted, then. I'll see you at seven. Brooke will be back in about an hour, she just needs to pick Tom up from football. You do remember Tom, right, Evan? Your son, six years old, extreme sugar addiction...?"

Evan's mind was racing ahead of him.

_"Your son..."_

He had a son. He had a wife and a little boy, a real family at last. The kind of family he had spent six hopeless years wishing for.

Then it struck him. Six. If Tom was six years old then that meant...

"Evan?"

"Yeah. Yeah, course I remember Tom. How could I forget?" the lie slipped out with a practised ease, although Evan was no longer concentrating.

Brooke had been pregnant when he'd saved her. He'd stood to lose more than he'd thought when he'd confronted the Albertosaurus. But if she'd been pregnant when he saved her...she had been pregnant when she died, too.

Before he rang off, he allowed himself a small smile laced with poignancy as he told Ange, "I'll bring wontons,"

She may not have known that what he was really saying was "I have good news,", but he did, and that was what mattered. It was his own small way of keeping the flame alive, an inside joke that only he would ever really understand.

In an hour's time, he'd see Brooke again and meet his child for the first time, and try as he might, Evan couldn't bring himself to care about anything else.

* * *

Full of apprehension, Evan slid the key into the lock and twisted it around with sweaty fingers. To his surprise, it turned easily, lifting the final barrier between him and the life he'd dreamed of for so long. With bated breath he turned the door handle and entered his home, wondering why he felt like an intruder in the empty apartment.

Silently, he looked around, taking in everything; unfamiliar carpeting, floral curtains, little things that could only signify a woman's touch. It smelt of cloying perfume and air freshener, fragrant with the tang of laughter, a warm, homely smell that made him think of families and happiness.

His family. Excitement shot through his spine. This was his family.

A framed photograph stood on the mantelpiece - another new addition, he noted - featuring himself, grinning widely at the camera with an arm around Brooke and one hand on the shoulder of a little boy, who looked to be about five or six years old at most.

_That's our son_, he thought, _I'm a dad_.

With small tremors of pride tingling in his arm, he reached out to rub his thumb over the glass, back and forth across the boy's freckled face.

"Tom," he whispered. The name felt alien, unfamiliar. Strange, but in a good way.

The next thing he knew, he was on the floor with Brooke fussing over him tenderly easing him into a sitting position.

"What happened, love? I just walked in and you were there on the floor! You scared me, Evan!"

He groaned, gingerly bringing one hand to his throbbing head. "I...I don't know what happened,"

"Daddy?" a pair of wide, chocolate-brown eyes peered around Brooke, unashamedly curious but also concerned as little Tom Cross stared down at his father.

"Daddy's fine, sweetheart," he said, and instantly Tom's worry faded, replaced by a look of pure disgust.

"_Sweetheart_? I'm five years old, dad, not two!"

Evan realised he had a lot to learn about this new timeline, and the whole parenting business in general, really. It wasn't like he'd had much experience beforehand, after all. The two people in front of him had made six years of memories already, memories he would have to live without.

Carefully, Brooke hustled Tom out of the room with a whispered promise that lit the boy's entire face with glee, so much so that he had to have a little jump around, kangaroo-style, to emphasise _just how pleased _he was with whatever deal had just been struck.

Shaking her head, his wife gave their son a pat on the head and shooed him out of the room, returning straight away to Evan's side. Her fingers prodded cautiously at his skull as she tried to ascertain how badly he was hurt.

"How long were you out for?"

This required rather more thought than he was in a position to give. "No idea,"

"We ought to take you to hospital, just in case. You could have concussion,"

Shakily, and with Brooke's help, he managed to make his way over to the sofa. Brooke sat down next to him, taking both of his hands firmly in her own and leaning in to press a warm kiss against his lips. She released his hands to rub small, comforting circles across his back, reaching out to touch his face in a loving caress. Sincerity shone from her eyes.

"You know you can talk to me, love. About anything. I'm your wife, Evan, we've been married for nine years. You're not in this alone anymore, we're a partnership,"

In a daze, Evan stared at her.

_"You're not in this alone,"_

"Evan?"

"I need my laptop," his head began to spin again as he thought for the first time about Dylan, Mac, Toby, even Leeds, the people he worked with on a daily basis. All of their lives had been changed when he changed his own, ripples of the butterfly effect he couldn't ignore. He was struck by hundreds of worst-case scenarios, all taking root, twisting and growing like living things.

There was reproach in Brooke's tone as she glared at him. "Oh, _Evan_. Can't work wait? We need to get you to a doctor,"

"No!" Evan shut his eyes and gritted his teeth, trying to control his breathing. "I will go, but there's something I need to do first. Where's my laptop?"

Brooke shrugged. "Okay, fine, but you know where your laptop is. It's by the sofa, like always, unless you've moved it for some reason. How badly did you hit your head?"

"Sorry, I've been a bit off all day. I promise you I haven't got amnesia, love. I'm just not thinking straight, that's all,"

"Five minutes," she called across her shoulder as she exited the room, leaving him alone. Evan focused his attention on the screen, fingers flying over the keyboard as he searched for 'Mac Rendell'.

He scrolled through the websites that came up. Mac, his colleague, his fountain of new regrets, his best friend above all else, beamed back at him from several grainy images, wearing a khaki uniform and the look of pride he'd come to know so well. Lance Corporal Mackenzie Rendell; a new name, a new life, and all because of Evan.

"I like him, daddy,"

He had been so transfixed by the pictures he hadn't noticed Tom creep back into the room. Smiling softly, he pulled his son close and together they watched the frozen image of this new Mac, a Mac with no troubles, no secrets, no lies. The man he should have been. The man Evan had stopped him from becoming. The man Evan had ultimately helped to create.

"I like him too, Tom,"

His next search brought up a cry of "Ewwww!" as his son shielded his eyes and scrambled away from his dad to bury his head in a cushion. Laughing fondly, he looked through the results that 'Toby Nance' brought up, most of them risqué photoshoots with dark, exotic themes, although there were a few more natural pictures that featured her and Nat together, laughing, kissing, innocence shining from their eyes. With no job offer from Evan to hold her back, she had made a successful career with the Fatal Babes and fallen in love with her ex-girlfriend all over again.

Another person whose life had changed for the better.

"It's okay, Tom, you can look now," he clicked off the website and reopened the search bar with his fingers poised over the keyboard. A knot of nerves twisted at his heart as he typed in the final name.

'Dylan Weir'.

A newspaper article flashed up, dated just a few months ago. A rush of doubt overcame him; maybe it would be better to shut down his laptop and pretend nothing had happened. Some things were better left unknown, some secrets made to be kept silent. Maybe it would be for the best to just leave her behind.

_"We would never even have met!"_

_"Yeah? Maybe it would be better that way,"_

And in that instant, he knew he couldn't do it. It was too late to turn back. His hand stretched out to move the cursor, a single click richoceting through the room with a terrible air of finality. Beside him, Tom had gone quiet.

_'Predator Control Officer Killed In Tragic Accident'_

_In a sad turn of events, Dylan Weir, a Predator Control officer renowned for her skills in animal behaviour, has been mauled to death after investigating suspicious sightings in Stanley Park, Vancouver. The origin of the attack is still unknown, however, officials are currently investigating the circumstances surrounding her death. So far, the park has remained cordoned off to the public, although wardens insist there has been no sign of the predator since the attack. Police have launched several city-wide searches across Vancouver in an attempt to track down the creature, but nothing of major interest has come to light._

_Tony Drake, a close friend of the victim, tells us "I still can't believe she's really dead. She was always so bright and full of life, the kind of person you can't help but like. Although she was the youngest on the team, she had so much raw talent and a real emotional connection with the animals we found. The wounds on her body were terrible; she must have gone through agony before she died. Nobody deserves to die that way, and especially not Dylan,"_

Wordlessly, he kept on scrolling down. Blocks of text flew past on the screen, but he couldn't focus enough to read them. Right at the bottom of the article there was a picture. A picture of her dead body.

She looked surprisingly peaceful, with closed eyes and a half-smile on her lips; she could have been asleep if it wasn't for the gashes covering her chest and legs and the blood strewn across her torn uniform, matted into her hair and streaking her beautiful face...she wasn't sleeping. She was dead.

The raptor had killed her because, for all his false promises that no-one else would get hurt, Evan wasn't there to save her this time.

Tom seemed to sense that there was something special about the picture with a maturity beyond his years, and yet his voice was woefully innocent as he looked up and whispered, "She's pretty, daddy,"

It was all he could do to choke out, "Yes, she is," and give his son a broken smile before he could handle the pressure no longer. He closed his eyes and let the tears fall, crazed, heaving sobs that seemed like they would never end.

A small hand patted his shoulder awkwardly. "Shall I go and get mummy?"

When Evan didn't answer, Tom rushed out of the room, returning a few seconds later with Brooke in tow.

"Hey, love, what's wrong?" she hurried across to him, her face creased with concern. Her hands moved to his face, gently wiping at the tears staining his cheeks and clustered in the corners of his eyes. It didn't help. When he looked at her, all he could see was Dylan, all he could think of was how, by bringing Brooke back to life, he had lost the one he loved.

He'd had six years to grieve for his wife, to miss her and mourn her and eventually move on. His broken heart had healed itself. When she kissed him, he felt nothing. Her touch was impersonal, like a stranger's. By spending his life obsessing over what had gone wrong, he'd failed to notice the world falling into place around him until he'd gone and torn it apart again.

"Brooke..." his voice cracked, rasping in his throat. It sounded strangled, breathless. His throat was constricting; he could hardly breathe.

She followed his gaze to the laptop screen and turned it around to face her, quietly reading through the newspaper article, taking in everything. When she came to the end, she looked up, suddenly unsure.

"Evan, why are you so upset about this? It was a random animal attack that happened four months ago!"

He sat there, silent as the grave.

"Oh, come on, love, get a hold of yourself. Worse things have happened,"

Her words may have sounded cutting, but she spoke with a sympathy that made the tears in his eyes quiver, ready to erupt all over again.

"Still, I do feel sorry for her parents. She was so young, wasn't she? Only in her twenties," she continued, blithely unaware of how deeply her ignorance cut him.

"She was twenty-five. Too young to die,"

"Did you know her?" she asked with a surprising delicacy, although it meant nothing to him. She had taken his heart and walked all over it even if she hadn't known she was doing it; what did tact matter now?

Carefully, she closed the lid of the laptop and moved it away. Evan made no move to stop her, still too numb with shock to care.

"Were you...close,"

He nodded, then shook his head, then nodded again, all without saying a word.

"An old flame?"

"Something like that," he stumbled over the words, but it was easier than trying to explain.

Tiny black spots danced across his vision as Brooke moved closer, obviously reluctant but curious at the same time. "I don't mean to pry, but you obviously cared for her a lot,"

He remained mute.

"Did you love her?"

Yes. That was the simple answer, but it was so much more complicated than that. He'd loved her and now she was dead, and there was no-one to blame but himself. He'd got what he wanted, done what he had to do and yet he still wasn't satisfied. He'd sacrificed Dylan for his wife, and realised his mistake too late. This was his fault, yet another death on his conscience, only this one hurt so much more than the others.

"Evan?"

Something inside him snapped, releasing a swarm of white-hot emotion from deep within his heart, emotion that had been kept cooped up for too long, begging to be set free.

"Just shut up, will you!" he roared, allowing the fury to wash over him and carry him away. It was exhilarating, after years of denial and restraint, surfing on a sea of blood with the wind in his hair and stars in his eyes. Terrified, Brooke moved away from him, sheltering Tom behind her. She clung to him with a desperate need whilst trying to comfort him at the same time, each drawing strength from the other.

They were the family, a family of two. Maybe the old Evan, the other Evan, belonged here, but this wasn't his world, despite what he'd told himself.

"Yes, I cared for her. Yes, I loved her, and now she's dead because of me; it was my fault!"

"Evan, it was an animal attack, there was nothing you could have done! You're being ridiculous, you weren't even in the country at the time!"

"I've just found out that Dylan's been killed, and you don't even seem to care! I thought I knew you, but I...I don't. The Brooke I know, she's not callous, she's not cold, not like this. What happened to you, Brooke? It's like talking to a stranger,"

Brooke stepped forwards, shaking her head sadly. "I haven't changed, Evan. The only stranger here is you,"

His mind clouded over, a blood-red haze descending over his vision and knocking the world sideways. A strange roaring sound filled his ears, and everything began to spin.

"Evan, I think there might be something wrong with you. Come on, just calm down, let me help you..."

Her voice went on and on until he was drowning in it. He reached out and grabbed her, shaking her, trying to make the noise stop, but it didn't, it got louder and higher until it turned into maniacal screams. With a final push, fuelled by fury, he sent her stumbling backwards, and her head hit the floor with a sickening crack. The screams stopped.

He waited for her to get up, but she didn't. Her chest was still. There was no breathing, no sound. Nothing. Everything around him faded into a blur of nausea and blinding pain.

Then it all went black, and the only sensation was a delicious, warming numbness spreading through his body, wrapping him in a deep, dark sleep...

* * *

Panting wildly, Evan shot bolt upright, clutching the sheets with one hand as he tried to work out where he was, sorting reality from his nightmare. It had all been so vivid, so real, every sensation alive and electric, even as parts of his dream began to fade from his memory. Everything was jumbled in his head, a mass of thoughts and feelings and people that he couldn't separate out, no matter how hard he tried.

Some things, however, remained sharply in focus. When he closed his eyes, Brooke stared back at him, her eyes wide, mouth frozen in a scream, the image stubbornly unwavering. He could still hear her voice, full of a pity he didn't need, didn't deserve.

_"The only stranger here is you,"_

He had come so close to losing so much. It would have taken a split-second to make the wrong decision and tell Colonel Hall that actually, Ange was right, they should keep the Albertosaurus sedated in the back of the truck.

A split-second that had never happened. He had dreamed everything. He _knew_ that none of it was real, that Dylan was safe and alive and probably sound asleep on the other side of the city, and yet his cell phone was clutched in his hands, fingers fumbling with the keypad and then it was ringing, ringing...

"Hello? Evan? It's three in the morning. What's going on?"

"Yeah, sorry for waking you up,"

_"And for everything else," _he added silently, as an afterthought.

"No, no, it's fine. Is there an anomaly?"

"Not this time," he stopped, trying to think of a way to word his next sentence that wouldn't come out sounding needy, pathetic, ridiculous or any combination of the three. "I...I needed to talk to you,"

"And it couldn't wait?" she shot back, sarcasm dripping from her voice. He could almost _hear _her rolling her eyes. Still, he couldn't blame her for it; a tired Dylan was a grouchy Dylan, as he'd found out to his cost. Several times, in fact. Although she'd always apologised afterwards, for the most part at least.

"I had a nightmare. A really bad one. And I know it sounds stupid, but I had to make sure you were alright,"

Her annoyance vanished instantly. "What happened?"

"I went back in time again, through the anomaly," there was no need to specify. They both knew exactly which anomaly he was talking about. "I saved Brooke, and I thought that for the first time in my life I'd done something right, that everyone else would be better off. You know what? I was wrong. I still couldn't save everyone. I wasn't there to save you, that day at Stanley Park, you were attacked by the raptor and it..."

"It killed me," softly, she filled in what he didn't dare to say.

"Yeah, well...yeah. I went crazy when I found out, said a lot of stuff I shouldn't have and then I pushed her, really hard. She fell backwards, and I was standing there, waiting for her to get up, but she didn't. Then I realised...she wasn't breathing, and..."

"Oh, Evan,"

He gripped his phone until his knuckles turned white and the ridges dug into his skin, savouring the jolts of pain running through his wrist. "Could you come over?"

"What? Now?"

He was fairly certain that asking her to drive all the way across Vancouver at three in the morning fell under the heading of 'selfish prick', but he couldn't help it. He needed her to be here, needed the reassurance of her touch and the solace in her eyes, before he could let himself believe it was all okay.

"Please?"

She sighed. "I'll be over in about fifteen minutes. Don't do anything stupid,"

"Who, me?"

"Well, you do have a certain reputation,"

He laughed, and then felt guilty for it. "I prefer to call it reckless,"

"That's another way of putting it,"

His grip on the phone tightened, and the pain seared through his lower arm. "Dylan?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you,"

There was a pause. "I'll see you in a bit, Evan,"

Then she rang off, and Evan was left alone with his thoughts.

* * *

**So, this is the first chapter of a three-part story made up of two full-length chapters and an epilogue. It's set at the end of s1, assuming that Evan and Dylan made it back to the modern world and Mac died on the other side of the Cross Photonics anomaly. I can promise you there will be more Dyvan interaction next chapter, with lots of angsty!Evan and fluff. Possible too much.**

**In case it's not obvious by now, I don't own Primeval: New World. And not for lack of trying.**


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